


Lick the blood from my fists

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Celegorm always seems to have an inclination to throw shit, Celegorm is a punk no matter what universe he's in, Elf gangsters, Excuses to put everyone in a hat, Flirtation with fists, Hate Sex, Implied Finrod/Curufin - Freeform, Implied Incestuous Feelings, M/M, Mablung insults everyone, Rough Sex, Unresolved Celegorm/Curufin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-22 23:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3747160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celegorm needs to push against something, or someone, and Mablung can always be counted on to push back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lick the blood from my fists

**Author's Note:**

  * For [victoriousscarf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Leave Your Secrets and Kiss the Whiskey from My Lips](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3377786) by [victoriousscarf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf). 



> 0\. victoriousscarf and I share intense feelings about Celegorm/Mablung hate sex, particularly in her 1920s AU. I haven't been able to stop thinking about them since she introduced their vicious, flirtatious relationship, and with her permission, I wrote this glimpse into what their relationship might have been like prior to the events of Secrets/Whiskey. She gets the credit for the universe; I take all blame for any conflicting/confusing headcanons or butchering of the 1920s.  
> 1\. Very roughly: The Nolodor[ians] and Sindar[ians] are competing criminal gangs in this AU, with Celegorm being the son of the powerful kingpin, Feanor, and Mablung in the pay of Thingol.

It was past midnight. Curufin wasn’t home, Celegorm was, and Celegorm was slowly realizing that Curufin likely _wouldn’t_ be home at all that night – like the night before, and the three nights before that – and he was sober, too damned sober to sit in their apartment and think about where his little brother might be.

He was pretty sure he knew, anyway, and _that_ was a contributing factor to why he wanted, so damned badly, to be drunk right now.

Or to break something.

Celegorm’s hands clenched involuntarily against the wood of the table, digging up splinters under his nails, but he tried to rein in the urge to smash the clean dishes stacked neatly beside the sink – Curufin’s work, of course, not his. Curufin had told him if he broke another piece of crockery he’d make him eat all his meals off the floor like a dog. Celegorm had laughed at this, and hung himself over his brother’s back, panting in his ear, his tongue hanging out, until Curufin had elbowed him sharply in the ribs, making him collapse with a ‘ _Oof’_ , and told him to shut up.

At any rate, breaking things was out. At least, breaking things in the apartment.

Celegorm stood up and cracked his knuckles before rolling down his shirtsleeves and grabbing his hat from the back of the door.

Breaking _people_ , on the other hand, might be exactly the kind of trouble the night required.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take him long, prowling outside Doriath, to find exactly the trouble he was looking for. Trouble being, in this case, leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette, a sneer the twin of Celegorm’s own on his lips, shirt half unbuttoned and a worn-out hat pulled low over his dark hair.

“You look like living shit as usual, Mablung,” said Celegorm, by way of greeting. He plucked the cigarette from Mablung’s lips and took a drag on it as Mablung pushed himself off the wall and gave him a familiar, wary look.

“So we got some Noldorian trash to take out this evening, huh?” Mablung spat on the ground, just missing the toe of Celegorm’s shoe. “Lost your kid brother, didja? Funny to see you alone in this part of town…”

Celegorm didn’t answer, but blew a stream of smoke in Mablung’s face.

Mablung didn’t blink, but narrowed his eyes. “Hm, wonder where the baby Fëanorion is. Maybe you left him on a street corner for too long and some John picked him up for a fun time, with that pretty little face of his. Hope you get a cut of the profit…”

Celegorm grinned, wide and dangerous. “I knew I could count on you to say just the right thing, dollface.” Then he dropped the cigarette and drove his elbow into Mablung’s nose.

Mablung had been expecting such a reaction though, and rolled with the hit, swinging his leg out to take Celegorm down to the ground even as he recoiled from the blow.

Celegorm sank himself into the fight with brutal joy, reveling in the tang of blood in his mouth and the ringing fury in his ears. They fought dirty, no holds barred, teeth and nails and –

“Below the belt?” panted Mablung, rolling out of the way just in time as Celegorm made to knee him, hard. “Typical Noldorian filth…”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of how filthy I can be,” breathed Celegorm, twisting Mablung’s arm back and pinning it to the cobblestones as Mablung winced and gasped out a curse.

“Yeah, I do, you son of a bitch,” he shot back. “I know just how filthy you like it, you bloody gutter whore…”

Celegorm laughed and pinned Mablung’s other arm to the ground. “Now, doll, if you’re gonna sweet-talk me we should take this somewhere else,” he purred, his face close enough to Mablung’s that Mablung could feel his breath. “Lemme show you what ‘below the belt’ _really_ means.”

“Subtle.” Mablung sneered. “Put your money where your mouth is, Noldorian.”

 

* * *

 

In theory, it would have been laughably stupid for Mablung to bring Celegorm back to his apartment – but then, Mablung changed living places so frequently that it hardly mattered, and anyway, he spent more than half his nights at Beleg’s. This particular nondescript apartment had been his den for the past month while he worked on a job for Thingol, and with that job wrapped up, he was planning on moving shop in the next day or so.

All of which meant that he could throw Celegorm Fëanorion down on the tiny cot next to the stove and tear at his clothes and not worry that the Noldorian would be able to do anything with the fact that he was in Sindarian territory.

Celegorm hadn’t even noticed the location of the apartment that Mablung had led him to. He was intent only on getting all that he could of the bruising, blinding, and above all, _distracting_ pleasure that Mablung provided with as much enthusiasm as he brought to his fights.

He faltered only once. Once, when he’d ended up braced over Mablung, his arms on either side of Mablung’s head as they ground their hips together. Neither had bothered to strip: their pants were pushed down around their ankles and their shirts bunched up over their stomachs, all that mattered was the slick drag of their cocks together, their harsh pants for breath, Mablung’s fingers scoring marks against Celegorm’s back, grabbing at his ass, pulling him closer. And the light from the lamp outside the window had cast Mablung’s face into shadow, and for a moment, Celegorm stilled.

_Dark hair, usually so neat but now wild and mussed over the pillow. Sharp eyes – grey, in this light – hazed with pleasure and want. A body, slightly smaller than his own, beneath him, narrow hips lifting, seeking him…_

Celegorm caught his breath, his chest suddenly tight. Half in a daze, he brushed his thumbs over Mablung’s cheekbones, pushing the dark hair out of his eyes.

_Grey eyes, in this light…_

He bent down to cover the parted lips below him with his own, a long, deep kiss, no bite of teeth or tang of blood, and the ache in his chest intensified as he squeezed his eyes shut.

_Dark hair grey eyes sharp hands and want, want that ate him from the inside out, cool grey eyes that looked at him sometimes and made him know more than he wanted to know – four nights, **four nights** of the other bed standing empty, four nights of unnatural silence, and he knew, he knew why, the glimmering lights of Nargothrond flashing behind his closed lids…_

Strong hands shoved at him and Celegorm broke their kiss, gasping.

“I’m not your fucking dame,” Mablung growled at him. “I’m not your girl, I’m not your sweetheart, I’m not even your goddamned friend, so stop kissing me like that. You going soft on me?”

Celegorm blinked, and then suddenly the anger was back, and with it, every drop of violence. He pulled back just enough so that he could grab Mablung by the shoulders and flip him over roughly. “Get on your hands and knees,” he hissed, low and dangerous, and Mablung shuddered and cursed him and did.

He wasn’t gentle, he never was, not when he took Mablung like this, and Mablung swore and moaned and tore at the pillow with nails and teeth and dug his fingers into the backs of Celegorm’s hands, but all the while pushed his hips back, eagerly, to meet Celegorm’s thrusts, and when Celegorm shook all over and came hard, his hand tight around Mablung’s cock and his teeth sinking into his shoulder, what of it if he closed his eyes?

No one could know what Celegorm pictured in that dark, formless moment, when Mablung groaned beneath him and spilled into his fist, and Celegorm rode out the tremors of his body until they both collapsed, exhausted.

And if he spent the night there, in that narrow cot, pressed to Mablung’s side, their legs tangled together and their skin tacky with sweat and sex, well…it wasn’t as though Curufin would miss him.

 

 


End file.
